Parrots and Schemes
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: In which a very sweet gesture to get Steph some security around her home turns into Paul basically planning out a porno. - One-shot.


Noisy and overfilled, the restaurant wasn't necessarily where Paul wanted to be. He could feel the eyes of one kid in particular, who looked about eight, but every time he'd turn to look at the kid, the boy would quickly look away. The first time was Paul's fault, as he'd attempted to freak the little boy out, by mean mugging him, but now he felt a bit bad and wanted to grin at the boy, but he couldn't catch his eye again.

Maybe he'd eventually come up and speak to him, so Paul could sign something for him.

He hoped so.

"Are you listening?"

"Mmmhmm," he hummed, though he wasn't even looking, really, at his girlfriend, much less paying attention to whatever she was going on about. "Every word."

"Okay, well, are you still interested then?"

Glancing up from his plate finally, Paul only stared before asking slowly, "In..you...or-"

"You weren't listening."

"I was listening." Shrugging a bit, he said, "Or at least I am now."

He could see she was peeved at him, but with Steph, Paul had learned slowly that this meant little. She was easy to piss off, but much harder to keep that way.

With him anyways.

She could be pretty bitchy to others, if not down right cruel, should she find disfavor with them. And there was typically little that they could do to fix this. But him? He could smart off to her, her father, the world, talk shit to her, her father, the world, be an ass to her, her father, the world and she'd still just think that he was the most charming asshole of all time.

Steph thought it was all for show. When he was acting like a jerk. To a certain extent, it was. No denying. And he tried to always make it worth her while to excuse his actions anyhow, treating her to most anything she wanted (usually just his attention) and letting her hang around with him as much as possible.

They were both busy with work shit a lot, but in their down time, there was nothing Steph liked more than when he invited her out somewhere. Steph thought it was special, when he wanted her around if he was with his friends, but he kinda liked showing off to the rare guys that weren't associated with the business. Everyone up at work saw him more as an opportunist, sleeping with Steph, while in the normal world, he figured most people would think that they'd make a pretty good couple together.

Or hot one, at least, as that was all anyone would really see. And he really wanted people to see how hot Steph was. Show her off. Stupid shit like that.

Not that they weren't also good though, as they were, in other ways. It wasn't anything other people would be privy to, but he and Steph frequently stayed up late and night, just talking, whether it was in bed together or by racking up huge phone bills.

Paul liked Steph a lot.

He just...didn't want to listen to her ramble about nothing that day over lunch.

Rolling her eyes, Stephanie said, "I asked if you were still coming with me to Connecticut? Or am I dropping you off on the way through New Hampshire?"

"Oh." See? Boring. Going back to his food, he said, "Yeah, of course I'm going with you. Why wouldn't I be?"

"We just made the plans, like, two weeks ago and you hadn't mentioned them-"

"Because they were still on, as far as I was concerned. Ain't got nothing to do these next two days except go plow you in your own bed."

"I'm so glad you put it that way."

"Thanks. Me too."

He didn't get an eye roll that time and it was kinda disappointing. It was about then though that he felt that kid's eyes on him again and, glancing over at where the boy was with his family, tried to grin at the kid, but again, he quickly looked away.

"Would you stop making faces at people?"

"I'm not," he told Steph though he did make one at her then. "That kid keeps looking at me."

"All I ever see is you looking at him. Which is weird. So knock it off."

"I look at him because he looks at me."

"Maybe he thinks the same thing."

"Bet he wants an autograph."

"From the best women's champ ever? Maybe."

"Pretty sure all anyone ever remembers from your title run is that you needed your big, strong husband to keep it safe for you."

"And maybe he's just staring at you because you're so huge."

"Muscular."

"Huge muscles."

A fine compromise.

"I don't know if you know this, babe-"

"Taking in your tone, it'll probably be something stupid, so no, I won't."

"-but I'm the most recognized wrestler to ever grace your stupid little company."

"Not even close."

"Kids love me."

"Because you're a disrespectful little douche, like they are?"

"I'm the voice of a generation."

"Half of one, anyways." Reaching over to tug his plate closer to her so that she could take what she wanted off it (he was distracted with that kid anyways), Stephanie asked, "So what do you wanna do in Connecticut?"

"Easy. Plow you."

"Stop saying that."

"You asked."

"Will you come with me to eat dinner with my parents? I bet Daddy would figure in some time if I asked."

"Why do chicks do that?" he asked, frowning when, after failing once more to catch the kid's eyes, he found that Steph had snagged his plate. Pulling it over to himself once more, Paul said, "It's weird."

"What's weird?"

"That you call Vince that sometimes."

"What? Daddy?"

Shaking his head, he said, "You don't call Linda your mommy, would you?"

"I personally don't, no."

"Right. But you call your father by the equivalent of it. Only chicks do that. No guy even says that word." Then he paused. "Well, not that connotation, anyways."

"Connotation?"

"What? I used it correctly. Prove I didn't."

No thanks.

"What do you call your mother then?" Steph prompted. "Huh? Do you call her Momma? Guys do that."

"I don't," he said, jerking a thumb towards his chest. "I call my parents Mother and Father, like a good, decent, well-rounded individual."

"You do not."

"Prove I don't."

"Oh, shut up."

But she was giggling and Paul resounded to focus a bit more on her, as their lunch was nearly finished with, for the remainder of it.

When they left though, that family was still eating, over there, and that boy had been staring at Paul for the majority of it, so he felt like it was the least he could do to have Steph find a sharpie in her purse (the woman had everything) and signed a napkin for the kid, which was super lame, unless you were about ten, which the boy was, and then it was pretty neat.

Steph and Paul were doing what was becoming their usual routine when the show was on the east coast and too close to home to consider flying back (most everywhere short of the west coast was too close for Paul), and driving through New Hampshire, where she'd usually drop him off, if not hang around a bit, before continuing on back to her home and the opposite, should they be heading north rather then back south.

Not to say that they didn't travel separately at times (and weren't better for it when they did), but Paul kinda liked it, hanging around one another so often. Steph smothered him at times with her obsession, but he found when she wasn't around so much, all he could think abut was what she was doing and when he could be around her again.

Maybe he was a bit obsessive too, when it came to the woman, and his was just sated, when they were around one another, while she couldn't shut hers off.

Or worse...what if he when he wasn't around, hers completely went away?

Not like he had much time to consider all of this, driving those few hours in the car with Steph. The woman could talk. About nothing too. Literally nothing, at times, as she would contemplate aloud with him how weird it was that they seemed to be all out of topics.

Paul, more or less an expert at relationships (he'd had enough of them, at least), was very good at pretending to listen and mostly not. Considering his current girlfriend seemed to need minimal input from him anyhow, this worked out pretty dang well.

"So what night did you wanna have dinner with Mom and Da.. Dad."

"Da-Dad?"

"Shut up?"

"Oh, gross, were you gonna call him daddy again, Steph? Sickening."

"What day, Paul?"

"Don't care." She was pretty insistent on driving that day, so he was the one that got to control the music (it was a rule) and was busy flipping through some of the CDs she had in the car for, oh, the thousandth time that day. "Since you're making me go-"

"I am not. You didn't respond when I asked if you wanted to."

"Did so."

"No. You started making fun of me."

"Right. About what you call your father."

"Yeah. That's not an answer."

"Felt like enough of an answer."

"Was not."

"The question was if I wanted to eat with your parents, right? And then I ridiculed you about said parents? Answer."

"Paul-"

"I said I don't care what day." He grinned over at her. "I'll even promise to be on some semi-decent behavior."

"You better be on your best."

"That is my best."

"And your shirt is going to have buttons."

Snort. "Yeah, sure."

"It is."

"Maybe I don't have one in my stuff."

"Then maybe we're going shopping."

"And maybe I'm not letting you waste my money on stupid things."

"And maybe you forgot that it's typically the reverse with us."

"I paid for lunch, thank you."

"Yeah, well- No. We've listened to that CD at least three times in the past-"

"You got to drive." He shook his head. "I get to play the music."

Again, it was a rule.

Steph's home was nice. Her neighborhood was nice. Steph was nice.

Still, Paul always felt a bit off, over at her place. A bit like he didn't belong. It wasn't even really the pristine condition she liked to keep the place (he was pretty neat too, if not more so, in other ways than her; seriously, the woman could never remember to put the cap back on the damn toothpaste…). Probably it was more that it had been a bit since he'd had a girlfriend that didn't live with him and the idea of not being able to just crash at his own home all the time was bothersome.

Adjusting. That's what he was doing. He and Steph were truly together then and it was something different, completely different, than it had been with his previous relationship. Or relationships, really. The freshness was wearing off and it was time for them both to decide what normal was going to be for them. The thrill of the chase and mystic of sneaking around were long gone, the outrage (by many) over their relationship was fading while Steph's family was starting to come to terms with the fact that, no, he wasn't using Steph and, no, she wasn't doing this all to get under her father's skin.

They were becoming a regular couple.

With unreasonable schedules that either left them too distant or far too close most of the time.

It was time for them figure out what their real relationship was gonna be and if they actually wanted to be in it.

Paul was nearly certain he did and, if the fact Steph was practically forcing him into a dinner with her parents (but not really) was any indication to her feelings, he'd say that she was as well.

"I'mma get you a dog, baby."

"A what?"

"A dog," he called a bit louder then as Steph wasn't in the same room as him. He'd headed off to her bedroom, their bags in his arms, almost immediately, while she went...somewhere. "I'm getting you a dog."

"Uh, no?"

"How come? You ain't a dog person? I don't put my dick in people that aren't dog people."

"A little too late for that. And a very weird thing to say." He could hear her then, getting closer, and glanced over his shoulder as she joined him in the bedroom. "Besides, I like dogs a lot."

"Great. I can keep putting my dick in-"

"But I don't want one right now, no." She even crinkled her nose at him. The man, after just dropping their bags on the ground, had gone to sit down on the end of her bed and was still there, just staring at her. "I'm never here."

"You gotta let him travel with you. World class dog. And don't you rich types love shoving dogs in kennels when you go on vacations or whatever? You're kinda on vacation when you're working. I mean, pretending to work."

He'd just packed a lot of insult in there all at once and Steph was a bit lost as to what she should be most offended by.

So she only made a face at his smirking one before deciding to say, "So I'm a rich type, huh? Then what are you?"

He was a bit disappointed, as he'd have far more fun continuing to tease her on the work issue, but it was his own fault, putting so much out there all at once.

"I might have money now, baby-"

"Might?"

"-but I struggled for mine. Wasn't born into it."

"I wasn't born-"

"If your parents are making bank before your tenth birthday," he intervened, "you're born into it."

"That's a whole decade."

"Just long enough to build an empire. And for you to benefit from it."

"You're really on my nerves."

Watching as she bent over her bag, pulling things out, he only said, "I'mma get you a big dog."

"No."

"Yes. A big watch dog. Protect my woman."

"I'm not your...woman."

"You're my woman."

"No."

"I'm your man, ain't I?"

Ignoring that, she asked, "Why do you think I need a watch dog anyways?"

"Big house like this? Tiny woman like you? You gotta have something here, looking out for you. And I'd offer my service-"

"Please don't."

"-but I'm a rather busy guy, you gotta understand."

"Mmmhmm."

"Maybe I'll get you a really weird looking pet parrot that'll fly around the halls and scare off intruders."

"How does your mind even work?"

"Uh, beautifully."

"I think you've been in the company too long, that you even came up with that."

"It's a great idea, Steph. It'll scare anyone nefarious away."

"Nefarious?"

"It will."

"Or will scare the hell out of me, mostly, considering I have no _nefarious_ intruders. Only a very annoying boyfriend."

"Put one of those little, hidden spy cams up," he went on with a nod. "Watch you get scared outta your mind by the bird. That's be great too."

"How could it be hidden if you just told me about it?"

"Babe, they make these cameras so small now. I could have one in here right now, spying on you, and you wouldn't even known."

"Better not."

"Gotta make sure other men ain't coming to crawl into my bed here," he said patting the mattress he was sitting on at the moment. In all honesty, he'd only slept in it about….damn, what was it? Six times, maybe? "And watch you shower because, hey, you know."

"Just how many cameras am I supposed to believe you have in here? And when did you get time for this huge setup? Much less when are you even around to collect the tapes from the cameras?"

"Technology's crazy these days, Steph. Don't think much about it."

"Trying not to."

"Crazy."

"And hey, that's not your bed, you know."

"Is the bed at my place," he reasoned once more, "not your be- Hey! What are you doing going through my bag for?"

"Looking to see if you got any of the tapes out of the cameras yet."

"Stephanie-"

"I'm getting your stupid dirty laundry, Paul," she remarked while making a disgusted face when she pulled a pair of boxers out and tossed it at the pile of her own clothes she'd already made. "What are you hiding in here anyways?"

"Obviously the tapes."

"Obviously."

"Nothing though," he told her with a bit of a frown before falling back, into the bed. His feet were still planted on the floor while he blinked up at ceiling. "Wish I did. We could have a big blow up fight. Then I could leave and not have to go to dinner with your-"

"I haven't even made plans yet, Paul," she said with an uptight voice that told him that had to be his last joke on the subject...for the hour….half of it, at least. "So if you're going to bitch about-"

"I'm kidding. Jeez. Calm down."

"Shut up, Paul."

"And my clothes better not smell like a chick when you're done with them," he remarked. "Washing them with all your frilly smelling shit."

"Who said I was washing them?" And when Steph stood, it was only with her own clothes. "I was just getting your nasty, sweaty clothes out of your bag for you. You can find the washer and dryer."

Shit.

He'd gone too far.

But…

He really didn't wanna get up and go smooth things over.

So he didn't.

For a good two minutes.

Then he realized that they were in Steph's house, where should she kill him, her father would no doubt have the best people to cover it up in the country.

So he shoved up to gather his clothes in his arms and go find his girlfriend.

"Damn, you actually separate all your clothes from one another?"

"Are you dense? Everyone does."

"I'm offended, you big bully." He made a face as he stood there, his clothes in his arms, staring at where Steph was very busy sorting through her clothes still. "Dense? Rude."

"Doesn't make you any less dense."

" _Anyways_ , babe, where do you want me to set my clothes? For you to sort through or whatever?" He came to try and set them on the little table she had in her equally as tiny laundry room, where apparently she did this sorting thing often.

Silly Steph.

White and colors were the only sorting he did.

And even then, only if the colors weren't old and faded and unlikely to bleed.

All this extra work was just annoying. Steph had patience, he'd give her that.

"Not near my stuff."

"Stephie-"

"No. Wash your own clothes."

"That's just a damn waste of water, you know."

"The earth'll live."

"It's people like you that cause droughts."

She wanted to be annoyed with him. She really did. He could tell. But at the same time, she was unable to keep the giggles from escaping as she continued to shake her head, down at the table before her.

"Destruction of our world and ignorance to said destruction is not a laughing matter, Steph." He dropped his clothes on the table with little care as to where they landed. He was the guest; she should wanna care for him. That got her giggles to stop, though when she turned to glare at him, he simply said, "It's seriously not."

"You're such an ass."

"Well this ass will be going around collecting his security tapes, so if you don't mind-"

"You better be deciding what you want for dinner."

"Oh, baby, I know what I'm eating."

"Don't be gross."

"What?" Paul didn't even look back as he left the room. "I want a sandwich."

"Cute."

"Do you even have things here to eat?"

"Not sandwich things. Or anything you'll probably want to eat."

"It's really rude, Steph," he scolded as they were talking loudly then, to be able to hear one another as she stayed behind in the laundry room, "to invite people over and not have anything for them to munch on. Especially a man."

"Sorry that I don't have men over that often."

"Oh, I know. The tapes."

"I know what we can do," she began in that tone that he hated so much because it almost always led to him doing things he hated. "We can go to the store together. It'll be real cute."

"How is that cute?"

"It's couple-ish."

"The store? Like the grocery store? How is buying apples and toilet paper a couple thing?"

"Were those specific things that you were wanting?"

"Well, if you don't have any-"

"And it's a couple thing, Paul, because we're doing it as a couple." She was talking louder then as she no doubt knew he was purposely attempting to get further and further away from her. "We're leaving in ten."

Damn him and his big mouth.

The store wasn't so bad though. He got to drive down there as Steph ticked off on her fingers all the things that she thought that they needed.

"But you can totally get anything you want to," she offered to which he only rolled his eyes.

He was paying for the damn excursion, he was sure, so of course he could.

The few times he'd stayed with Steph, she seemed to like to play housewife a bit and try to make him their meals. Which definitely sucked, every damn time. The woman could scramble an egg, but that was about it.

And he wasn't even that big a fan of eggs!

"It's a damn good thing you're rich, you know," he told her once as the pair stared down at her burnt casserole, her forlornly and him with a shake of his head. "Won't attract many men with such poor homemaking skills."

"It's not that sixties," she'd muttered back, sounding far more disappointed in herself than he was feeling towards her (which was not at all, actually; cooking was hard). "Women can do more than cook and keep house. Women can get real jobs now. We don't need men anymore."

"Yeah," he'd sighed as he went to go flick through the takeout menus she had. "That's what women who can't get men say."

That specific evening though, as they went around the local supermarket, her beaming over the idea of them doing something so normal together, him debating whether he should just ditch out on her that very minute, Paul convinced Steph to make something simple.

"Who can't make spaghetti, right?" he asked. "You cook some meat, heat up some sauce, boil some noodles. Bam."

"It's not real cooking though."

"I didn't pick a chef, Steph," he remarked with a nod of his head. "I picked a McMahon. So that she could hire us a chef."

"You're so full of it."

"I'mma be full of spaghetti tonight, is what I'll be full of."

Sigh.

"I'm about to make us split up and let you go off and buy things while I actually shop."

"Don't threaten me with things that I hope for, Steph. It'll only backfire on you."

"You now, you could just play along and be cute with me."

"I'm being super cute. Do you not see me pretending to actually care enough to argue with you? I could just leave you here, all alone. In fact-"

"You're annoying."

"And you're grinning."

"Shut up and bag some of those apples. Since you wanted them."

"Desperately."

Paul wished that he had tried to be more, as she put it, cute before, at the grocery store, because then at least there was a chance that she would have filled up on couple shit. Instead, when they got home, he found out that she wanted his help in making dinner.

"But-"

"You're eating it too, aren't?"

"Only if you don't burn it." Then he made a face. "In fact, maybe I should just make the whole thing."

"Shut up."

Spaghetti making was more a lot of waiting around than it was cooking. Waiting for the meat to brown then the noodles to become soft in the water. Then you had to wait for the sauce to boil and after it was all mixed up together, for it to cook through.

Which was fine, back when he planned for her to be the only one worried about it. Somehow though, he lost out on getting to go peruse the television package Steph had (and make some horrible crass jokes about buying adult movies because, hey, you know) and instead there he was, in the kitchen, with his girlfriend.

"You know, if I knew all McMahon houses didn't come fully staffed, I'dda never agreed to come."

"You're going to hurt my feelings, eventually."

"Good."

"Shut-"

"Don't tell me to shut up again." He glanced away from where he was scrambling up the hamburger meat and over to where he'd sent her to chop an onion. Neither knew, really, if onions belonged in spaghetti and felt far too stupid, calling on of their mothers to find out.

Better safe than sorry.

"Shut up, Paul."

"That's all your parrot's gonna learn to say. 'Shut up, Paul.' It'll be annoying."

"Don't parrot's poop everywhere? Because I'm not dealing with that."

"The big huge hulking dog that I was buying would shit everywhere too."

"I never agreed to you buying that."

"I have to protect you, Steph. From burglars."

"Okay, I'm starting to think that _you're_ the one planning on robbing me."

Paul couldn't help it. He snickered. "Yeah, well, if the security tapes are suddenly missing the night of the robbery-"

"I'm gonna put up my own security tapes in your house and see how you like it."

"I'll like it a bunch, actually. You should see what I do when I'm home a lone. It's quite riveting."

"Let me guess; walk around naked? Stare at yourself in the mirror?"

"I think you're just horny, Steph. Or have a dirty mind." He shook his head at her. "Try again."

"Me? I have one?"

"You do. Save for tonight though. I'm very busy cooking, as you can see."

"Oh, whatever."

"And how long does it take to chop an onion?"

"My eyes are watering!"

"Suck it up, you big baby."

He was sure he got a tongue stuck at him, but Paul didn't look. When Steph came over to scrape the onion bits into his meat though, she did say, "I bet you go around the house, when you're alone, pretending to play guitar to your music."

"Babe, if I wanted to do that, I wouldn't wait until I was alone. I'd do it now."

"Oh, whatever."

"I would." One of his hands was holding a spatula, as he mixed the onion into the ground beef, but with the other, Paul patted himself in the chest while staring down at his girlfriend. "Babe, everything I do is one hundred percent authentic. There is no trickery, nothing fake. Not one bit."

"Uh-huh."

Dinner wasn't horrible. It would have been hard to make it that way, honestly. They'd bought salad stuff as well, however, and Paul's plate consisted more of that than the pasta, but this was fine with Steph as she knew there was nothing burnt and therefore, nothing to gripe about.

Not that he ever griped at her. Literally ever.

About food anyways.

"So is it, like, a joint thing?"

"Is what a joint thing?"

"This bird."

"If you're about to flip me off, I think we can end things here." He tsked. "You're too immature for me."

"I wasn't- And hey, you freaking make dick jokes for a job."

"Dick jokes are mature. The ones I make, at least. High level thinking."

"That wasn't even what I was talking about," she continued. "I was talking about the parrot."

"Oh. That thing. Yeah, no, I'm not really big on, you know, paying for things? Seems like a you thing."

"So you're just going to buy me a living creature-"

'And dump it on you? Mmmhmm. That was the plan."

Steph considered this, stabbing at some of her salad, before saying, "I hope you know that I'll consider it our baby then."

He'd been taking a sip of his water then, but choked at her words. "What?"

"I'll even name him after you."

"You're not calling this parrot our baby."

"Then you're not going to buy me a parrot."

"I have to," he grumbled as he got up to grab a paper towel from where they set on the kitchen counter. He'd more than spit his water all over himself, much to the amusement of his girlfriend. "Wanna see you running around in the dark from a parrot. Money making gold, right there."

"What does that mean?"

Tossing the paper towel in the trash, Paul went to take his seat once more. "Putting my dick in a McMahon-"

"I didn't like that phrase the first time, so I don't know why you're using it again-"

"-has brought something outta me. Inspired me." He looked smugly across the table at her while his girlfriend only glared. "Gonna quit my job, babe. Up in the ring. This is going to require my full attention."

"What is?"

"This parrot thing."

"How us having a baby together-"

"That parrot will not be-"

"-a money making venture?"

"I'll sell the recordings," he reasoned with a nod. "Money."

"Not money. Who would wanna watch me run around, afraid of a parrot? Which, once it becomes my baby-"

"It won't."

"-I'll love and not be afraid of?"

"That's where your daddy comes in, baby."

"Oh, gross. Yuck." Steph dropped her fork with a gag. "Yeah, you're right. That word's horrible. Please don't ever say it again."

"Getting to fuck a McMahon has given me the most important insight that comes to the entertainment industry."

"There's so much wrong with everything you've said in the past five minutes."

"We'll fake 'em, babe." Paul winked. "Well, some of 'em."

"Fake what?"

"God, dense."

"Hey-"

"The videos, Steph! We'll fake your reactions! Stage them. Script them. Whatever." He noisily slurped a noodle up, just to annoy her even more. After, he added, "I'll get you and a bunch of your hot friends, right? To pretend to live in the house? And the videos will always happen late at night and you'll be in all sorts of states of undress or whatever and the bird will show up in the darkness of the hallways and it'll scare the shit outta you guys."

"Who would watch that, Paul?"

"Um, hot girls scared shitless in their lingerie? Everyone." He stared her straight in the eyes. "Everyone will watch that."

"Why," Stephanie asked slowly, "do I feel like this idea is just some sort of bizarre porno that you rented once, forgot about, and now think that it's your own idea."

"Porn?" He scoffed. "Baby, what do I look like? I don't watch porno."

"May you should," she suggested with a shake of her head. "So I don't have to hear about these repressed fantasies of yours."

"Money making venture. I'm practically Vince over here."

"Gross."

"There will be no sex," he informed her.

"Between you and Vince?"

"In the videos. And gross."

"Me? I'm the gross one?"

"Extremely."

"You're the one that wants to video me and these imaginary hot friends you think I have that would be willing to do this-"

"Ha, I knew you had no friends other than me."

"That's not what I said. I said the ones that would do this are imag-"

"Loser. Friendless loser."

"Just for this, you're losing custody of our baby parrot."

"I'm a rubber man, baby." He tapped his chest. "Can't get nothing pregnant."

"Okay, considering I know that's not true-"

"It is sometimes."

"I think I can count on both hands the times you were. Like, literally in the very beginning of our relationship."

"Well, you are a filthy whore."

"You know-"

" _Anyways_ , now that I think about it," he remarked, "fuck the parrot."

"Well, I hope you do use rubbers, then."

"I'll just run around with a camera, scaring scantly women in the dark."

Steph was trying to say something then, but she was laughing too hard as Paul only sat there, shaking his head at her, as if disappointed with her inability to keep in character.

"What's so funny, Steph?"

"You're so..." She laughed harder. "I can't. I really can't."

"I'm building us an empire and you're laughing at me. Figures."

"I swear this whole bit you're doing-"

"It's not a bit! It's a work in progress."

"-is going to end with you sleeping with all those women. If not, like, some sort of gory, torture thing."

"You have totally misjudged me." Paul tsked. "I'm offended."

"By which part?"

"Which part? Both, Steph. Me? Sleeping with talent?"

"How is it talent to run around half naked, afraid of a man?"

"Do we even work at the same job? Or-"

"Clearly we have different interpretations of the business."

"Clearly."

"Maybe you should put your dick in more McMahons."

"Well, if you're offering-"

"Where do you even get parrots?"

"Don't play coy now. Bend over, let me get some more inspiration."

"Gross."

"Me?"

"We're not doing this again."

He allowed himself to grin truly then, Paul did, as he sat up a bit straighter and said, "Your spaghetti's good, princess."

"Mmmhmm."

"The best even."

"Sure."

"If it makes you feel better," he offered with a bit of a shrug, "you could just be the only one of the talent I fuck."

"If I won't be fucking anything-"

"Kinky."

"-if I don't get my baby parrot."

He couldn't help it. That time he laughed, getting up to go grab some more spaghetti. From over his shoulder, the man said, "Well, you're not getting one, so-"

"If you really loved me?"

"Who ever said I love you?"

And he meant it in a snarky, jokey way. The same way that their whole conversation had been snarky and jokey. But for some reason, when he took note of Steph not responding and glanced back at her, he found that her joking mood had all been zapped. Or at least it appeared that way, given the face she was making.

The silence was awkward and Paul's, "I was just joking," only got a bit of a shrug out of Steph and there it was. That moment. The one that always came up. When he took things too far and hurt her feelings.

Sigh.

He'd learn, in the coming months, when to anticipate these moments and how to divert away from them.

Where he was at the moment, however, all he knew how to do was be very quiet and just go take his seat.

Dinner wasn't much longer, anyways, and they didn't say much. When it was over, Steph wanted to do the dishes right that moment and refused his offers at helping.

"It'll be easier if I do it alone," was her reasoning, but that was true about literally everything in the world.

You didn't do things as a couple because it made it easier; you would do it just to _be_ a couple.

And oh, God, was she rubbing off on him?

Yuck.

It wasn't like Paul minded Steph being a bit pissy at him anyways. It gave him a chance to stop being so damn entertaining (he just was) and relax.

He figured he'd do this by folding all the clothes, in the laundry room. For Steph. And himself too, actually, considering some of them were his. Not because he felt bad or anything. Just…

Just because.

"You didn't have to do this. Fold the clothes. I was going to."

"I'm scoping out places for new cameras," he remarked when she joined him in the tiny laundry room, coming to press a kiss to his fuzzy cheek. Paul acted indifferent to this as he continued to fold a shirt. "Don't think the parrot made me forget that bit. The original thing."

"You being a creeper?"

"Being a good boyfriend, is more like it. Running surveillance."

"Uh-huh."

"And stop huggin' on me. Help me fold all this."

They were still a bit off, it seemed, but better.

He spent a good part of the evening out on her couch, watching one of the movies Steph had that didn't look too chick-ish.

Since she refused to watch it with him, he resolved to not rewinding it.

That would show her.

He fell asleep, regardless, during the middle off it. When he awoke, it was to the blue glow of the television and a blanket his girlfriend had been kind enough to toss over him across his legs.

Flicking off the television, he set out to find said girlfriend, disappointed a bit when he discovered that she was already curled up in bed without him, sleeping. Not that this stopped him from falling rather roughly into the bed, just to get her to groan and awaken.

"Good. You're up."

"Am not."

"Well, get that way."

"No," she groaned though she was already rolling over, arm reaching out for him in the darkness, looking for his neck. When she found it, her arm curled a bit, wrapping around his neck as he sat on his knees, unzipping his jeans.

"Don't be that way, baby. Five minutes. Swear."

"If that," she muttered as they both fell a bit, her dragging him down as she rested back against the pillows once more. "Four and you have a deal."

"Three and you keep your creepy mothering of a parrot deal to yourself."

"But I'll name him Paulie."

"Yuck, gross."

"What? That's what I'mma call you now," Steph yawned as they were both trying to work together at wiggling his jeans down a bit, both too lazy, it seemed, for him just to get up and pull them all the way off. "Paulie."

"No."

"How come?"

"It sounds like Polly."

"That's what I said. Paulie."

"No. Like, you know, the chick version."

"What?"

"Polly." Then he paused. "Actually, you know what, that would be the perfect name for a parrot. I think it's even mandatory, if you own one."

"Paulie?" Steph wasn't getting the connection. At all. "Babe, are you drunk?"

"Are you?"

"On exhaustion."

"Same." His jeans only got to his thighs, but that was far enough, it seemed, as he began focusing on her panties. "So let's hurry this along, huh?"

Steph hardly lifted her hips to aid in his tugging, but he forgave her considering he, you know, woke her form a dead sleep for all this.

Rubbing her nose against his lazily, she whispered, "Your wasting your three minutes."

"You said four!"

"I lied."

Snickering sleepily, he nuzzled his head into her neck then. "You are a McMahon."

"Inspiration."

"You inspire me so much," he muttered, though he wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean. If anything, he should inspire her. It was too late in the night, however, to make that argument. "Steph."

"Mmmm."

Maybe more than three, but certainly less than ten and Steph was curled back up, drifting off once more, while Paul slunk off to the bathroom to shower off a bit. When he returned, he was much quieter, climbing back into her bed, being careful not to wake the woman as he settled with his back facing hers.

It was hardly morning when the phone by Steph's bed rang. Paul was just as drowsy as her, but unlike Steph, just shoving his head under a pillow wasn't going to block out the noise. So as she slept through it, he eventually let out a deep yawn and reached over his girlfriend to grab the wireless phone.

That's what she awoke to, a minute or so later, the sound of his muffled voice breaking through the pillow's fluffy barrier. With a moan, Steph shoved the pillow away to find her boyfriend sitting up in bed beside her.

"-sounds great. Yeah, we'll be over whenever you want. Five? Alright, I'll tell her."

She only blinked, watching as he hung up the phone. "You get personal calls to my home now?"

"Got a problem with it?"

"If it's going to be a regular thing, considering I'm nearly certain it wouldn't be a local call-"

"It was for you, anyways."

Sitting up a bit herself, she asked, "So you talked to someone that called for me-"

"I told you, I's gonna keep other men out of this bed."

"Right. Because that's when most people get booty calls. At six in the morning."

"Don't sell yourself short, babe." He shook his head. "For you? They'd show up at six in the evening."

"They show up at six in the evening, we're going out to dinner."

"Or you're shoving nasty spaghetti down their throats."

"You said that you liked-"

"And it wasn't a man, if you must know."

"I was pretty sure, but thanks for the confirmation. And don't lean over me!"

But he did it anyways, taking his time replacing the phone back on the base. Steph hit at his chest, but he only fell over her completely then, forcing her to shove him off. Once he did, he grinned rather widely at her, falling to the bed with a snicker.

"It was your mom, by the way," he informed her as he rested on his back, waiting for her to cuddle up to him.

"What was?"

"On the phone, dummy."

"Don't call me dumb."

"Apparently," he went right along, "she is up early this morning because of your father or something and wanted to know if you were up. To go shopping together. Which I find extremely cute, Steph, that you get up early some days to go shopping with your mother."

"And you told her-"

"To fuck off; you're with your only true interest right now."

Steph was shifting, finally, to rest closer to him. It was only once her head was pressing against his side that she asked, "What'd you really tell her?"

"That I'd fucked you to death and-"

"Paul."

"To be expecting a parrot grandchild-"

"No. New joke for the day. You know the rule. You can't piggyback from one day to the next."

It was true. Kept things from getting stale.

"You always expect me," he grumbled, "to come up with the new thing for the day."

"You're funnier than me."

"Well, duh. I mean, have you ever been with a guy that wasn't?"

"Shut up."

"Because he'd have to be, like, the most unfunny person in the world."

"You're being mean this morning."

"Get used to it."

"No." She nuzzled her head into his side, as if to burrow under him. As he glared down at her though, she only asked, "And you're telling me, you don't get up early to go shopping with your mother?"

"When I was five? Yeah, probably."

"It's different for me."

"Why? Huh?"

"Just is."

"And how often are you out and about at six in the morning? Steph?"

"Stop being jealous." Then, with her lips ghosting over his side, she whispered, "Of my mother, of all people."

"Just want you in the house at all times."

"Starting to show those abusive traits, Helmsley?

"No," he hummed, making a face down at her. "So that the parrot cam can record you at all times."

"I said we were off then."

"And Hunter isn't abusive. You're just annoying as fuck. If anything, you annoy him."

"I'm really going to annoy you when we do get this bird. Little Paulie."

"Hate that name."

"We've gone over that too."

A slight grin playing at his lips, Paul said, "Now don't get me wrong, Steph; I'm gonna have tons of kids by tons of women."

"Was that plural to both? Or are you just tired."

"But not right now," he said, moving right along. "Sure, one day, I'll probably have, like, what's the going rate for wrestlers these days on lovechilds?"

"Isn't it lovechildren?"

"But not before I finish my very important duties."

"Which would be?"

His smile was bigger then. "Obviously you."

"I'm a duty?

"A big one."

"I'm too tired to argue," she sighed, "with how dumb you are."

"Oh, so I can't call you dumb, but you can call me-"

"Whatever I want."

Paul considered this before giving in. "Sounds about right."

"You were sweet though, with that kid yesterday."

His eyes had been slipping closed, as he planned to doze a bit more, but that got him to glance down at her. "What kid?"

"The one at the restaurant, babe."

"That? That was marketing."

"Oh, whatever."

"It is." He even nodded. "Definitely."

"I just thought it was nice. That you were so concerned with making sure that he knew that you knew that he knew who you were."

"It's too early for riddles."

"Well, that was basic listening comprehension, but-"

"Go back to sleep. Praise me and how you want me to put a baby into you as soon as possible-"

"I never said that. At all. So-"

"-in the morning," he finished, eyes slipping shut again. "The real morning."

"When's that?"

"Eight sharp."

"So less than two hours from now?"

"Exactly."

Stephanie, once awake, always had a hard time drifting off again (especially when she wasn't alone in bed anyways), but did see it as a good chance to snuggle up to her boyfriend. Especially when he didn't shove her off for doing so.

For a few minutes, most everything was still as Steph laid with her head over his stomach and Paul just about fell back asleep. He would have been, in fact, fast asleep, had Stephanie not suddenly shot up.

"Wait," she asked in quite the demanding tone, pressing a hand into his chest as Paul groaned, peeking an eye open. The sun had hardly risen yet and the sky, while getting lighter, wasn't bright yet. Perfect time for some more sleep, he felt. Especially on a free day. Such a rare, perfect, in Steph's bed, free day.

"What?" he asked, trying hard not to sound annoyed. "I'm trying to-"

"What did you plan with my mother?"

"What? Steph, go to-"

"I heard you. Before you hung up."

"Oh. That?" He moaned a bit, annoyed then that he'd ever woken her up to begin with. "Just dinner tonight. That's all."

"Dinner."

"At your parents' place."

"What?" Stephanie sat back, away from him. "Really?"

"I told her that we wanted to and she said she'd have to call back to see if Vince would be around, but even if not, we could come over at five."

"You're not joking?"

"How would that be funny? God, Steph, you really are a lot less hilarious than me."

"I thought you didn't wanna go? I figured I'd have to drag you over there."

"I was kidding about that. So you don't even understand jokes either?"

Slowly, she fell back down to rest on his chest once more. Paul's arms had been folded beneath his head, but one came down then, to rest over her gently.

"You'd go eat dinner with my parents," he said to which she shrugged.

"But I'd want to though."

"And I wanna do this." Running his hand up and down her arm, he added, "I don't hate your parents. They just hate me. Sometimes."

"You are obnoxious."

"And gonna make a fortune off tapes of you running around in next to nothing." Then he paused. "Or literally just nothing."

"Daddy's already got you beat on that one."

That time, it was a genuine laugh as, blinking down at her, he said, "The way you said that sounded so nasty."

"It is kinda nasty, when you think about it."

"You're whole family dynamic is nasty."

"Is not."

"Is so." Other hand falling from behind his head as well, he patted his chest, right before where her face was resting. "That's why you're with me. So I can provide you a better life."

"Right. With the money you make capitalizing off my father's apparently nasty company."

"I didn't say the plan was perfect."

"Is it even the plan at all?"

He was staring up at the ceiling then, the feeling of her eyes on him rather heavy. Slowly, Paul told her, "I like being with you. A lot. I plan to be."

"Same," she giggled.

"Until, you know, something better comes along."

And he about bit his tongue because he was nearly certain that was going to end poorly, as their teasing had the night before.

For some reason, however, he seemed to have met her just at the cusp as she said, "Right. For me."

Paul's mouth fell open, in play, as she giggled some more, hiding her face in his chest. Dropping his arm from around her, he asked, "You saying I'm not your perfect man, babe? Huh?"

"Well," she said slowly, lifting her head to grin up at him. "You could be a bit more fit."

"Excuse me?"

"No! Paul-"

"No." He wasn't very gentle about it either, as he shoved her off and moved to pin her down on the bed, Steph's complaints intermingled with her laughter. "I am the pinnacle of fitness, babe. You name me another guy down in that damn company that has pectorals as impeccable as mine. Traps that are noticeable, but not that overbearing-"

"Gross. I'm not waiting for, literally, any other guy in the company."

"Liar."

"Am not."

"Better not be." His head dropped down to her neck, where his words then got muffled. "You can wait on some other lame loser from outside the company. But I better be your number one in it. You hear me?"

"Of course, baby." One of her hands slipped out from where he was holding it down though it only moved to tangle up in his hair. "None of them come close to you."

"How it should be."

"Besides, I think I'd get written out of the inheritance if I pulled this again with another guy."

"We can't have that."

"Well, I can't, but considering in that situation you wouldn't even be-"

"Mmmmm." Lifting his head form her neck, Paul moved to rest his forehead against the woman's, their eyes meeting easily. Softly, he asked, "I'm not crushing ya, am I, baby?"

"A little." Then with a grin, she added, "But I kinda like it."

"That's my girl."

She bowed her head a bit, so that she could kiss at his jaw before whispering, "Thank you, Paul."

"Hmmm?"

"For talking to my mother. For...planning, I guess, to go over there."

"Short of you asking for a kidney, babe, I'll do it for you."

"That- Wait, why I can't I have a kidney?"

"Are you kidding? You can a have the parrot's kidney-"

"Paul-"

"I'm not budging on this." And when she tried to shove him off, he added, "Or on you."

With new goals in mind (for Paul to survive dinner and for Steph to get him to admit that she could at least have, like, half a kidney), neither could wait to start the day.

Which didn't explain why they both dozed back off until eight...thirty, sharp, not soon after that, but it had been a busy day, the one before had.

And even if the bed wasn't officially his yet, when Paul finally did get up to get ready for the day, he had to admit, it had been a pretty comfortable night's sleep.

Not that the woman beside him didn't help, but hey.

* * *

 **Original plan for this was Paul having to have dinner with Vince and Linda, but somehow, it just diverged and got too be too large for such a thing. So maybe another time.**

 **Next thing I'mma post will be one of the requests. Swear. Even though the people that asked for them probably even care anymore. That's beside the point.**


End file.
